


Negotiations

by arafinwean



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Gen, Haladin | House of Haleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arafinwean/pseuds/arafinwean
Summary: Haleth looks at Caranthir and wonders what he's lost.Or the first meeting between the two. Written for the Starter Prompt for the Holiday Feast.





	Negotiations

The race of Men know death in a way the Eldar never will. That is the sole thought going through Haleth’s mind as she gazes at the elf-lord across from her. The race of Men die, wither away like the leaves on autumn trees while the Eldar remain young and beautiful.

Haleth stares at the elf-lord and wonders what he knows of death. She thinks of her father, how he was bright and terrible even as he was cut down. Haleth thinks of her mother who had died giving birth to her and her brother.

She thinks of her brother, the other half of her soul, how he had seemed shrunken and weak as the Orc poison moved through his veins. Haleth thinks of her family and wonders what Caranthir has lost. For the elf is dark and bright in a way Haleth has only seen in artists or mad-men.

“May I have your name, Lady?” Caranthir asks. And were Haleth one of Bëor’s kin she might have bowed.

She does not bow, does not dare show her throat to the elf in front of her.

“My name is Haleth,” she answers, her voice curt, “I thank you for the aid you have given my people.”

Caranthir raises a brow, and Haleth can’t tell if he’s amused or not.

“You thanks goes unneeded,” he says, “You are on my land after all. It would be remiss of me to let Orcs stake their claim.” His voice is reproachful and Haleth bristles.

“The land belongs to no one,” she claims, her eyes hard and unyielding, “The earth has been here before we walked it and it will be here when we are gone. To stake a claim on it is foolish.”

“And why would that be?”

“Nature is volatile, to claim something means you can control it, can bend its will and make it your own. Can you control the land you claim then, Lord? Is there some elf-magic I am unaware of that allows you to bend nature to your whims? Or is your ego merely so large that it thinks it can tame the very thing that allows it to live?”

Caranthir, to her surprise, laughs then. Loud and harsh and it causes the gaze of others to turn their way.

“There is much you are unaware of I wager,” Caranthir says, amusement lacing his words, “But your spirit is strong and your mind steady. I would grant you a fiefdom if you would have it. My soldiers would be sufficient protection for your people.”

Haleth thinks of her people. Of how their spirit and laughter. Of their tales and traditions. Haleth thinks of her people and their love for hunting and the wilderness.

Haleth thinks of her people and how they fought even when the odds were against them, even when the tide of Orcs seemed never-ending. She thinks of how midwives and medicine women picked up the swords of their dead brothers and husbands and fought.

She thinks of how even when they died, they died fighting and she wonders what would happen to that spirit, to the urge to defend and protect if she accepted the offer before her. Haleth wonders what would happen to their traditions, to their language and stories.

She thinks on the offer.

And she refuses. What would her legacy be if she let her people lose their stories? Their traditions? What type of person would she be if she let her people's culture die because she had been frightened by what happened?

“We can defend ourselves,” Haleth says, once again meeting the gaze of the dark-bright elf, “I would not vow my people to a lord we’ve only just met.”

“No?” Caranthir questions, “Even if it meant land and safety?”

“But would we be free? I think not. We would have to bow our heads to your lordship. My people are not servants and I will not be the one to make them bow.”

Caranthir is silent for a moment, his bright silver gaze studying her. Looking for a moment of weakness, a way he can convince her to stay.

He finds none. Haleth’s face is a steel mask, unyielding and steady.

Caranthir smiles.

“I would ask for you to reconsider, but I believe you would only answer the same,” he says dryly, “We would have been honoured for you to join us. Your bravery is something admirable, and while I do wish you would stay, I cannot stop you from leaving.”

“You can’t,” Haleth agrees.

“Is that a threat?”

“If it needs to be.”

Caranthir shakes his head.

“You are an intriguing woman,” he says, “At the least, I can prepare you for whatever travels you may take.”

Haleth is proud, and a part of her sneers at the offer but it is one that she cannot refuse. Their supply stores are bare and her people are in desperate need of medicine and other supplies.

“I would gladly accept your aid,” she says, “For my people are in dire need of supplies and medicine. And may I be so bold as to ask that you allow us time to recover before we relocate?”

“You will have both the time you ask for and the supplies I offered,” Caranthir says.

“Then you have my thanks. May the Green Lady guide your steps,” Haleth says, amusement sparkling in her dark eyes at the way Caranthir pauses.

“And may she guide yours,” Caranthir says at last.

Haleth smiles, and turns to go aid her people.


End file.
